Later this month I'll be celebrating— in my own quiet way (or so I hope)— 5 years of real freedom. My last relationship died just after Labor Day in 2006, but I remained living with my former LTR until mid-August of 2007, to give myself time to build a cash reserve (among other things). Some really great friends helped me move, buy furniture and set up my home in my current space. It was the beginning of real freedom.
I love my home. I love my space, my privacy and my stuff in it, especially my library. I love my animal companion, Manuel, whom I adopted less that a year after moving in. I love my home because I've turned it into a refuge, one that is rarely intruded upon. I love the fact, also, that it is conveniently located near adequate shopping, socializing and entertainment resources. I have a good place to live, and I hope I get to keep it for a long, long time.
Nothing short of a miracle or a disaster would induce me to move at this point. I'm not counting on the former, and I'm hoping and praying to avoid the latter.